0-In the Beginning

by Peter David

  Speaking so softly that he had to strain to hear her, she told him, "Leave it on the table."

  He did so, but did not immediately depart. Instead he eyed her with curiosity. "I should think you would be pleased by the progress of the war."

  She turned to face him. "What pleasure can be found in beating an enemy that never had the slightest chance of defeating us?"

  He sounded mildly scolding as he said, "Is that sympathy I hear in your voice, Delenn? I'm surprised. You were the chosen of Dukhat, after all. You were his favorite. Does his death mean so little to you?"

  She gestured toward space as if she could encompass the whole of the Minbari fleet with one wave of her arm. "Dukhat would never have approved of this slaughter!"

  "Perhaps." Morann agreed so readily that it quickly became clear to Delenn that Morann might well have struggled with that very thought. But if he had done so, he was not about to admit it. Either that, or he had dismissed it as not worth considering. "We will never know, because the Humans murdered him. This is simple retribution."

  She shook her head. "This has gone beyond retribution, Morann. This is madness. It is genocide."

  Lenonn finally broke his silence. "Yes, it is. And you're right, Delenn. The Humans cannot oppose us. So one can only wonder why the warrior caste has embraced this war so enthusiastically. Would you like to know what I suspect?"

  "I'm breathless with anticipation," Morann said sarcastically.

  Rising from his place, Lenonn speculated, "The warrior caste loves to win and hates to lose. It's easier to fight a weaker opponent and be guaranteed victory than to oppose a far more dangerous enemy."

  The insinuation was that the warrior caste was composed of cowards, but Morann ignored it, since it was literally beneath commenting upon. Instead he focused on Lenonn's now almost mythic paranoia. "Are we back on the Shadows again?"

  "They will come," Lenonn said. "Soon."

  "Legends," Morann said dismissively. "Nothing more. The Humans are a real enemy. An enemy I can touch, see ... and kill." He drew himself up proudly. "This we have done, and this we will continue to do, with no help from your so-called Rangers."

  "They continue to watch for the true danger," Lenonn warned.

  "Do they?" Morann asked sarcastically. "How ambitious." He circled Lenonn, voice dripping with contempt. "Watch the frontier and report back. Better than engaging the enemy. Better than risking their lives. And considerably better than dying, is it not, Lenonn? Sometimes I wonder where your loyalty really is."

  Lenonn trembled with barely contained rage. "You dare?" he whispered.

  Driving home the point, Morann sneered, "Or is it simpler just to be a coward?"

  Morann never even saw Lenonn's hand move. But in the next instant, the denn-bok, the fighting pike that was the preferred weapon of every Ranger, was extended. Morann took a cautious step back, suddenly realizing that he might have gone too far. For all his years, for all his obsessions, Lenonn was not a threat to be dismissed. Indeed, at that moment all of his anger was singularly focused on Morann, and it seemed as if he were angry enough to smash Morann back into another incarnation.

  Then Delenn stepped in between the two of them, her hands outstretched, forming a barrier. "Stop this!" she said angrily. "Stop it, both of you! Morann ... get out."

  Sounding not unlike a recalcitrant child, Morann started to say, "I was simply-"

  But Delenn would hear none of it. "I said get out!"

  Morann paused for a moment, just long enough that it didn't seem as if he were hopping to instantly obey Delenn's command. At his own pace, he slowly headed for the door. But he paused at the exit, to throw back over his shoulder, "You're too old to command the Anla-Shok, Lenonn. You would do well to give it to those young enough to fight. Then you can go off to the sea, and join your beloved Valen."

  It was easy enough for him to be confident at that point, of course, now that the immediate threat from Lenonn was past. With his customary swagger, he strode out of the room, leaving a very quiet Delenn and an extremely chagrined Lenonn, who retracted his fighting pike and turned to face Delenn.

  He bowed slightly in deference. "I'm sorry, Delenn. I was your guest, and I acted poorly."

  She shook her head. "You only did what I would have done if I had a pike in my hands. No apologies are required." She turned back to the window, dwelling on Lenonn's warnings, and thinking of Troy, and the unbelieved predictions of Cassandra. For one moment she envisioned the majestic crystal towers of Minbar, with flames licking the skies, while powerful and frightening black vessels hovered overhead. And screams ... there were screams, and whether they came from within her, from the ships, or from the withering soul of Minbar itself, she couldn't begin to tell.

  Endeavoring to dispel the dark mood that had fallen upon her, she said, "When you arrived, you said you had some information for me?"

  "I have arranged for the transfer of all Dukhat's belongings to this ship," Lenonn told her. "I have brought everything that was his, Delenn. Even recreated his sanctum. Only you and I have access for now."

  His tone was very peculiar, but Delenn -wrapped up in her thoughts -didn't notice at first. She nodded absently, appreciative in a distant manner of Lenonn's dedication to the memory of Dukhat. But she didn't take it beyond that.

  Lenonn realized that he wasn't quite getting through to her. He was silent for a moment to provide a contrast, and then he cleared his throat extremely loudly. It was such an odd sound for him to make that it caught Delenn's attention. That was when he said, with as much unspoken meaning as possible, "I think you should go there, Delenn. I think you should go as soon as possible."

  She looked at him quizzically, but he said nothing more. Merely bowed and exited.

  Delenn waited there another moment, glanced one more time at the formidable fleet arrayed around them, and then headed out after Lenonn. But when she stepped into the hallway, there was no sign of him. She stopped a passing crewman and asked him where Dukhat's possessions had been transferred to, and was given directions to a previously empty quarters two decks up.

  Delenn quickly made her way there. She paused when she saw a pair of Minbari religious-caste guards standing outside the doors. But when she drew within range, they quickly stepped out of her way, as if intuiting that she wished to enter.

  Lenonn had been right. She had been in Dukhat's quarters any number of times, and the reconstruction was amazing. It was virtually a shrine to the great, fallen leader. But it was ... it was different, somehow. Darker, more foreboding. As she entered, and stopped in front of a wall hanging that resembled the triluminary itself, shadows seemed to move almost with a life of their own. Suddenly everything that Lenonn had been warning about seemed to vibrate with new resonance within her.

  It wasn't her imagination, she realized. The shadows were moving, coming toward her, and ...

  She stepped back, gasped in surprise, her hand fluttering to her mouth as a form separated itself from a corner of the room. And there was a sound accompanying the movement, a sound that seemed like rippling musical notes.

  The being who had emerged was like none that she had ever seen. He (she? it?) was garbed inside a massive, fairly shapeless encounter suit-an immense, deep red, heavily robed garment that served as a sort of movable and protective atmosphere-containment unit. Its cloak looked like great folds of chain mail. There was a huge, angular, cyclopean helmet upon its head (or at least what she presumed to be its head), and the projections on what approximated the shoulders bore a faint resemblance-if one were given to flights of fancy-to wings.

  The musicality, like the sighing of stringed instruments, sounded all around her, and she wasn't sure how much was actually in the room and how much was in her own head. The alien being simply stood there, apparently waiting to see what she would say, what she would do.

  "What... who are you?" Delenn managed to get out, but by the time she had spoken the words she already knew the answer. This must have been the individual wh
om she had overheard Dukhat talking to when she had inadvertently eavesdropped outside his quarters. The chime, the tonality of the sounds accompanying it, was unmistakable. "You're ... are you a Vorlon?" she asked slowly.

  It/he/whatever nodded. With a being so slow and ponderous, even the most minute and casual action seemed filled with portent. And this time a word-the same word she'd heard uttered all that time before-floated out of whatever and wherever the being's mouth might be.

  "Yes."

  "Yes."

  She had not expected the second response, for she had not seen the second Vorlon. She couldn't quite understand how in the world she had missed it. For that matter, how had they moved about on the cruiser undetected? The religious-caste guards had not looked particularly perturbed, didn't act as if there were extraordinary, legendary beings in the room that they were guarding. How had they gotten in there? In crates, perhaps. That was the most logical notion. Lenonn had had them transported in crates and left in the room. They would not have needed air to survive within the confinement of the crate, since the encounter suit would give them all the atmosphere support they required.

  Or perhaps they simply willed themselves from one place to the next. With Vorlons, anything was presumed possible.

  The second was costumed similarly to the first one, though its helmet was dark blue, and possessed a glowing red eye in its center. The edges of the encounter suit seemed sharper somehow, more curved and even a bit more (and here her imagination might have gone a bit overboard) threatening.

  "What... is your name?" she asked the first Vorlon.

  "Kosh," it replied.

  She turned, waited for the second Vorlon to respond. But no reply was forthcoming, and she had the sneaking suspicion that she could have stood there from that moment until Doomsday and the imposing being would not answer. "What do you want?" she continued. "What are you doing here?"

  "Creating the future."

  In the frontpiece of the helmet belonging to the one called Kosh, a small green "eye" irised open. The air shimmered in front of it, and Delenn was stunned to see a holographic image of Dukhat.

  She was horrified to realize that, in her mental picture of him, she had already -already -begun to lose small details from her recollection of him. The details of his posture, the exact timbre of his voice, she wasn't sure exactly how she remembered them, until she saw them in the image.

  When Dukhat spoke it was in a fairly straightforward, matter-of-fact manner, as if he were not delivering information that could and would have serious ramifications for all the Minbari, past, present, and future.

  "If you are seeing this message, it is because I am dead," Dukhat said. He did not seem daunted by the prospect of his own demise. Indeed, he appeared slighdy amused at the prospect. "I leave this in trust of the Vorlons to give it to the right person, at the right time. I ask you to trust them as I have."

  He was not necessarily speaking to Delenn, or anticipating doing so. He was trusting in the judgment of the Vorlons. She couldn't help but hope that, wherever Dukhat was at that point in time, he would be pleased that the Vorlons had selected her for...

  For. ..

  For what?

  Unaware of the inner turmoil that was racing through Delenn's thoughts, the holographic image continued unwaveringly. "They have come to us in secret, to prepare for the coming war. They say we will need allies ... in particular a race that is, so far, unknown to us, called Humans."

  Upon her hearing that, it was as if someone had connected a wire to her spine and sent a powerful jolt through her. It took her a moment or two to fully refocus on what Dukhat was saying. "If we have not already done so by now, it is my hope that you will work with the Vorlons to find these . . . Humans . . . and bring them into the battle on our side."

  On our side? she wanted to scream at the projection. On our side ? We are in the process of systematically exterminating them to avenge your death and you tell us now they're supposed to he on our side? She was shaking her head in slow disbelief as Dukhat continued, "The allies of the Shadows are gathering at Z'ha'dum. Their masters cannot be far behind. They must be stopped. Finish the work I began. Finish it. .." Then he vanished.

  Why did you not bring them before the Grey Council? Delenn's mind demanded irrationally of the projection, for naturally it could neither hear nor respond, and the originator was gone. It was terribly frustrating, for she had no idea why. No idea at all. ..

  Yes. Yes, she did.

  Valen had told them. Prophecy had told them. Lenonn had told them. Even Dukhat had once asked about a rumored race called Humans, an inquiry lost in the squabbles of the Grey Council. Everything that they needed in order to do the right thing had been shown to them.

  Lenonn had been right after all . . . right about the Minbari falling from the light, right about their not being worthy. They had no faith. That was the problem. They should have taken their predicted future on faith. The Vorlons wanted them to have that faith, for that would have made them worthy. But they did not, and so the Vorlons had only appeared to their greatest leader. To Dukhat, and now to her.

  To her. Which made her part in all of this . . . what, exactly? She did not know for sure, but a part of it she most definitely was, whatever "it" turned out to be.

  It was only then that the full, true horror of their situation dawned on her, with such fearsome magnitude that she was completely appalled. "The Humans," she whispered, as if admitting some deep-down, horrific secret.

  "Yes. They are the key," Kosh intoned with that haunting musicality.

  She looked at the empty air where the holographic image had floated only moments before. "He . . . didn't know. Couldn't know that... we are at war with them." She could only imagine the awfulness of Dukhat's dying moments. She realized now, beyond any question, that with his last words he must have been trying to tell her that. To force the words from the depths of his dying body, because he would have known the horrible consequences the Humans were about to face because of their actions.

  In response to Delenn's observation, Lenonn's voice suddenly spoke. "And that is why it must be stopped."

  He moved toward her, and she had no idea whether he had been present in the room all along, or had just entered now. But how long he had been there was secondary to her attempting to fully comprehend the information she had been given.

  "You knew?" she asked in surprise.

  He nodded. "I found out when I arrived, when Dukhat and I worked out our strategy for involving the Grey Council and the warrior caste."

  Strategy? The entire meeting had been orchestrated? She wasn't entirely certain how to feel about that. It meant that Dukhat had been less than candid with them, had endeavored to manipulate them, and had indeed succeeded. He'd worked in tandem with Lenonn, giving the Grey Council the impression that they were operating under free will, when the fact was that they were being maneuvered through a carefully choreographed bit of politicking. Delenn wasn't certain whether to be amused, angry, or somewhere in between.

  As if sensing her momentary confusion and borderline anger, Lenonn made an impatient gesture as if to indicate that the time for such indecision was past. "We have lost valuable time already due to this . . . distraction. If we do not end this soon, more time will be lost. We must stop the Great War before it starts ... or millions of lives will be lost."

  ~ chapter 10 ~

  Let me tell you about Dr. Stephen Franklin.

  A more dedicated, hard-working, and occasionally sanctimonious Human I cannot recall meeting. He was in charge of the medical facilities on Babylon 5. He was so driven that he almost drove himself crazy there for a while. Then again, we all have our temporary insanities, I suppose . . . some of us less temporary than others, when you think about it.

  Franklin was a solidly built, square-jawed man with a deceptively gentle face that went a long way toward hiding an utterly uncompromising personality. He also had somewhat darker skin than most Humans I encountered. Apparently on Earth en
tire wars have been fought over the subject of skin pigmentation. In all my reading about Humans, I was never able to determine precisely why that was. Then again, Humans excel at needing no reasons to do whatever it is they wish. A very, very odd race.

  Prior to the Earth/Minbari War, Dr. Franklin had ended his association with Earthforce. He had some -shall we say unresolved? -difficulties with his father, a general in that branch of the service, and as a result had left Earthforce- and Earth, for that matter-to carve a career for himself that had no military attachments. However, when the war broke out Franklin's conscience got the better of him and he returned to Earth and volunteered to help in whatever way he could. He was immediately pressed into service to prepare for the inevitable flood of wounded.

  When he had first been introduced to the facilities in Earthdome that were intended to act as an infirmary designed to cater to the needs of Earthforce personnel, he had been appalled. Then he had been angry. And then he had put his foot down. As a consequence, he'd gotten his foot stepped on.

  At which point, with great reluctance, he had brought his father into the picture.

  His rationalization for involving General Richard Franklin was that Franklin-the-elder had just as much interest in quality facilities as did his son. It was up to Stephen to be able to stitch injured men back together again, and it was incumbent upon Richard to make certain that the care being offered was the best care anywhere.

  So when Stephen came to the conclusion that the facility being offered to him was substandard-there were very few returning survivors, after all-he felt he must let the appropriate authorities know. He could think of no one more appropriate than General Franklin, and no one more capable of getting things done, as well. On that, Stephen had been absolutely correct. The Earthdome facilities were, indeed, brought up to snuff.

  The bottom line, of course, was that Stephen had had to swallow some pride. But when it came to the needs of men and women who were risking their lives, then Dr. Franklin would gladly take a large heaping helping of pride stacked three meters high.